Tag Archives: beliefs

Rights? What Are Rights?

I keep hearing ‘God-given rights’.

I want to know:  what are those rights?  Seriously?!

If those rights are based on something that isn’t factual, frequent repetition of those words doesn’t by default make them law.

If those oft-repeated rights are based on something seemingly factual but being attributed to the God of Torah, the God of the Old Testament, then the title of God has been taken in vain.  Dangerous ground there, slippery slopes and all.

God given rights are to breathe, to multiply, and to die. Given equally to mankind, to animals as well as to plant life (breathe termed in alternate forms) and organisms.

Choice is an option given mankind. Not a right, an option. People often choose to be emotionally driven.

Right to live?  Well, until you die… sure.

Liberty? No, not a right that Almighty granted, but seemingly a cultural perception graced upon society in general.

Pursuit of happiness? Whatever. That’s another cultural perception of mankind, not a God-granted right.

The words of Torah, the history of Tanakh comes to mind… 

People were born poor.

People were in situations where there was no food, no water.

People died.

People were born into slavery.  All colors.

People were isolated into groups.

People were restricted and persecuted for their beliefs, their race, their cultures.  Across the earth.

These situations are often the direct result of consequences.  Choices made and consequence of choice being the equal and opposite reaction.  Assigned situations based on circumstance and consequence.

Breathing.

Reproducing.

Dying.

 

Rights equal to all.

The rest is conceptual. Even if penned by founders.

 

Atonement

Oh Almighty, God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

I and my predecessors and my offspring have sinned and done exceedingly wrong before you.

Your laws have been spurned and cast aside, your priests denied and your dwelling treated as naught.

Your creation has been given no rest and your land is profaned.

Your people no longer know your Law and your Priests no longer know your people.

Justice is treated as wrong-doing and wrong-doings are treated as just.

Knowledge has become base and lawless and laws of men exceed all boundaries.

Men think themselves  gods and make mere men their gods.  Is there no hope for mankind?  Is there no turning back to do right?

I see people whose intents seem good, yet they know you not.  Will they get the chance?

Will you remember the Land and remember the Covenant?

Is there yet a remnant left to glorify Almighty God?

Are there yet punishments to be dealt and accepted?

Praise you, oh Almighty God – your mercy gives me hope, although my transgressions are many!

Thank you for Yom Kippur and the yearly cleansing of our souls.

May your established laws and statutes be forever known and kept to make difference between the clean and the unclean and the Holy and the unholy, to show glory to Almighty, God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Buckets Are Too Limiting

Dust in the wind, worm food – either way, my personal take on death is that I will know no more.  It will be the end of me, the last breath, the circle of life.  Last call…

It’s a heavy thought – to think that nothing follows, that there is just an end – but it suits me, suits my practical nature.

One of my sons once posted a thought, which I’ll paraphrase:  if a person is only good because they’re focused on divine reward, then that person is a piece of shit.  I don’t know if these were his own words, and I don’t know that he won a lot of praise or ‘likes’ for that.  But if you stop and think about it, it makes sense.

If only rules, or rules hedged about with some eternal reward system are keeping you from bouncing out of control and into a psychotic rage, or killing frenzy, then you’re simply a caged rabid animal.  Where is the realness, the human connection, the compassion?

If those pieces are missing, then you really are a piece of shit.  Like it or not, calloused though it may be, it’s the simple truth.

There are moments when I think people see me in similar light.  Cold.  Unreachable.  Distant.  Tightly strung.

The truth is that I feel so deeply, watch ever so intently and capture essences and nuances of meaning and feeling that often escape others.  It’s painful, it’s draining, and it makes me put on the tough skin of protection to keep it from shredding me into millions of little pieces.  Dust.  Pieces of dust that would so easily blow away, carried off to unknown places and spaces, away from me.

Another son stated when announcing a pregnancy that he and his wife were ‘growing a human’.

How aptly said.

A combination of their parts, their pieces, that attach little parts and pieces of the generations preceding them – a tiny piece of me – grew inside the womb.  Destined to be an infant, this little nugget emerged last November, a wonderful wriggling, wrinkled version of itself, a new growth on the family tree.

There are few people who fit ever so perfectly into my comfort zone.  My introverted self, my regulated and logical nature requires that I have plenty of space to call my own, and plenty of time to fill that space.  My sons and their spouses are included in those few (hubby’s a given, a keeper, the magnet holding me in my space) and it’s always such an easy-going and comfortable time when they come to visit.

But during a recent visit, there was this edge to me, this pressure behind my eyes, this feeling of tears that could burst forth at any given moment – a strange thing when I was so relaxed and so enjoying the company.

It took words penned by my dear friend for me to realize that it was pure joy ebbing and bubbling beneath my surface.  I was so powerfully moved by this new event, this new growth that it didn’t have a proper slot to fit into my logic, nothing prior to name this, to capture and label this emotion.

pail and leaves

My bucket flows over.

My list is now such a pittance, such a distraction from the wonder of seeing what comes next, what this fabulous little seed of a human brought with her emergence…

Bucket lists are too limiting.  What I want to see before I die, I cannot even begin to fathom.

But the end has suddenly changed course, because not only will parts of me continue through my son after I die, now there will be parts of me to last another generation.  That, my friends, that’s what’s real.

Chag Sameach Pesach

Happy Festival of Passover.

On the fourteenth day, at dusk, we eat the lamb with unleavened bread and bitter greens, with feet shod and loins girded.  And any lamb left over from the whole roasted lamb, is not to remain until the morning, it is to be burnt entirely in the fire.

That’s what I recall from the reading.

And that’s why I don’t keep the feast, just the remembrance.  I don’t have the means to roast a whole lamb, and I don’t have a physical community with which to share the extra meat.

I have purchased unleavened crackers.  And I will rid the property of items that contain leaven tomorrow, as the First Day of Unleavened Bread, Hag HaMatzot, begins at sundown and will last for seven days.  I will also bake unleavened bread tomorrow, using a favorite recipe.

Just like any other restriction, just before the deadline, you’ll find me cramming in samples of the restricted item, slice by slice, piece by piece, bit by bit.  I’ve enjoyed buns and pound cake and toast and cookies and crackers this week.

Over-enjoyed, really.

It will be good for me to refrain for seven days.  Likely a shock to my system, considering the past month of over indulging on bread and baked stuffs.  I’m ready though.

I’m somber already, as the Holy Days always strike me as such sorrowful times.  I simply don’t consider them to be the celebrations they were meant to be, when I’m living in exile.

But I’m extremely thankful to be able to observe the Holy Days.

Todah YHWH!

Preparations: To Look Ahead

A signal for special Hebrew preparations, the twelfth new moon sighting was recently announced.  That triggers my attentions to my larder, my pantry.

As commanded in Exodus, the new year will begin soon.  It’s signaled by the first moon during or after the aviv stage of the barley in Israel.  From Wikipedia, ” aviv is the stage in the growth of grain when the seeds have reached full size and are filling with starch, but have not dried yet “.

This twelfth month means that soon there will be teams searching to determine the barley stage just prior to the next new moon – if the majority of the barley is at aviv, then the new year begins with the next new moon.

That means that Pesach/Passover and Chag Ha’Matzot/Unleavened Bread would follow shortly after.  Time for me to begin using up what I have of leavened items/leavening in my cupboards.

Last year, I was not as prepared, and tossed out nearly $100 worth of prepared foods from the outer food storage areas:  deep freezer and pantry.  It’s what had to be done.

This year, I’m trying to be less wasteful.  It’s so hard to remember when I’m at the store, buying in excess – “no, the remaining panko breading is enough to get through the next six weeks”.  I hope I’m not talking out loud when I remind myself, but that seems to be one of my recently acquired skills.  Ah, the freedom of age, eh?

 

 

Thankful

A day on the US calendar, declared a day of thanks, gives me the day off from work and a good reason to use it to spend with family.

I love my family, so a day when all of us – or many of us – can be together, to visit, to share, to eat (it really does always revolve around the food, yes it does)… those are good days.  Those are days that I am extremely thankful for.

This year though, I’m taking the day off.  No big to-do, no organized meal, because truly this is not a prescribed Holy Day for me.  Not a day commanded by Almighty.  It’s a culturally inherited day, one which I have the ability to enjoy if I so choose, but one on which I would also gladly work if needed.

Hubby countered me the other day when I was describing a conversation I’d had with a co-worker about the days I “observe”.  In his mind, I observe Thanksgiving.  Simply because we often host family in our home on this National Day with all of the fixings.

Easily misunderstood.  It nearly does seem like our family tradition.

Thing is, it’s not.

Really.

Family tradition would mean that I would feel somewhat bereft in not following it  – amiss, and off-kilter, nearly guilty.

I don’t.

I’m extremely thankful that today will be a day I am not required to be at my workplace and a day that I can simply do whatever I feel like doing.

Turkey cooking?  Yes, in fact.  Hubby brought one home from work and I have the day off, so I’ll pop that bird in the oven sometime today.

But at my own pace, because I’m not on a scheduled tradition clock today.

🙂

 

A Growing Family

Due to increased risk to mommy and baby, our pregnant daughter-in-law will be induced this week – three weeks early – bringing a new granddaughter into our world.

The thought of that perfect little parcel of cells opening her mouth wide and gulping her first breath exhilarates me.

I’ve always loved kids.  Kids and animals.  Put me in a room full of faces and bodies and I’ll find a corner from which to observe and the small bodies will gravitate to me.

Conversations with kids are so easy and natural – innocent and information hungry questions, simple requests, and bonding extraordinaire.  Pure enjoyment of pets comes without the hassle of overtones and inflections and nuances.

Adding instant grandchildren has been so easy for me.  Build a quick addition to my ‘heart and soul house’ and put their name on the wall.  Instant family.  Instant love.  Equal rights.  Easy-peasey.

This is a first though – a challenge to my stance.  A seed.  The added room to the ‘heart and soul house’ is more like a new tree.  It’s been growing, a part of me already – not quite the same as something I’ve built.  Suddenly I’m aware of those carefully saved treasures, little snippets of papers to show progress through the years; memories captured – boxed and saved books from my childhood, special items from my son’s childhood; simple little cards and writings I’ve protected dutifully through the years.  Suddenly all of these things make perfect sense.  Their space-taking has full value now – these are the physical representations, the accouterments of the new room, the outgrowth finally seen for its worth.

And now my logical mind wrests with the knowledge that what I’ve always said, what I’ve always thought, what I’ve always lived, is not quite true.  I’ve fooled myself.

Blood is thicker than water.  It is.  There’s a surge of feelings that cannot simply be constructed with imported family.

But there is the choice, free choice, true choice to build family, to add them honestly and truly to your heart.

I recognize the difference now, as I contemplate that these hands, these arms, these eyes, will caress an outgrowth of my cells, my parts, my pieces.  My mom’s parts and pieces – my dad’s parts and pieces.  Suddenly the generational puzzle will fit another piece into place.

Those family that have been added as fully formed units formed from other generational parts are still my family – they have their own true familial space, because my heart constructs very authentic room additions on the ‘heart and soul house’.  For better or for worse.

So to my daughter-in-law who brought me instant grandchildren:  Dear love, you are my tribe – your kids are my tribe.  I’m Grandma no matter the result of your vows – the heart rooms are already built, and I’m a master constructor, and an equal opportunity sort of gal.  Please understand that I never got the same start with your babes that is now available with their cousin-to-be.  Bear with me as I bond, as I relish in the glow of new feelings.  Hang in there Hon – there’s no devaluation in store.  We’re adding, not subtracting, love for one more.  You are my daughter, and I love you and what you’ve added to our family.

And to my daughter-in-law who carries the unborn child of my son, my cells, the inheritor of my past:  Dear love, bear with me as I run the gamut of emotions, as I try to give you space to bond.  For my hands want to reach out and intertwine with this new little semblance of my son.  My mind wants to erase the mistakes I made as a mom and embrace the opportunities of being a grandma that is there from day one, with the hindsight and knowledge to share.  I’ll do my best not to smother you all with my needs.  Know that as this little one resides in room number six of the ‘heart-and-soul’ home – it’s the first room of its type, it’s special and will always be, something I have no skill to construct.  A room only God can produce.  I love you, dear daughter, and love what you give to my son.

Bubbe T

aka Grandma Trish